


Facing Demons

by Lamenta



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of self-harm, Nightmares, Post-Game, Scars, Self-Hatred, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/pseuds/Lamenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maverikloki won 2nd place on my Tumblr Followers Giveaway and I finally got finished with it :) I hope it's not too dark °u° if so, I apologize and please drop me a note if you want something else written. I do get carried away with all things dark sometimes <3</p><p>Maverikloki asked for hurt/comfort with Anders comforting Fenris.</p><p>I hope I got all warnings covered, if not, PLEASE let me know! :(</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facing Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaverikLoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/gifts).



It’s the hushed voices that wake him from his light slumber; whispers in the distance, gradually coming closer. Their tone is condescending, their words mockery; calling him names in a mixture of revulsion and fear.

 

His skin is on fire, his body curling into a fetal position, trying to make himself small, to avoid being seen so he would escape punishment, at least this time.

 

 _Little wolf_ , Danarius murmurs. His words sound fond but Fenris knows better. He knows the gentleness of his master’s voice belies the coldness, the rage he must feel over his slave disappointing him greatly. _Monstrosity_ , the mocking voices coo, _plaything, knife ear._ He hears chains rattle, his chest tightening with fear.

 

 _Take him_ , he hears Hawke say and his throat constricts from the tears he refuses to spill, his tongue holding back bitter words of disappointment and betrayal. Why, he wants to ask. Why are you doing this to me? Have I wronged you? Have I disappointed you? Why will you not stand by my side?

 

 _It’s **master** ,_ Danarius chides him and his markings burn, white-hot and agonizing. Fenris’ lips part for a silent scream, his eyes trying to see in the darkness surrounding him. Walls that are closing in on him, the foul smell of fecies and death. _Have you learned your lesson yet, slave?_

 

“Please,” Fenris whispers fearfully. He doesn’t want to be in this place again, doesn’t want to breathe the foul air or listen to the pained screams of those being tortured.

 

_Please what, little wolf?_

 

 _What an exotic animal. Beast. **Demon**_.

 

 _Dance for us_.

 

 

His skin is itching, his body feverish and trembling. Short, sharp nails scratch, scratch, _scratch_.

 

“Cut it out,” Fenris demands but his voice wavers. “Cut it out of me!”

 

He scratches until blood is pooling beneath his fingertips; the sharp sting of lyrium seeping into his bloodstream and spreading throughout his entire body. His lungs burn, he can’t breath, his insides a sea of fire devouring him from the inside out. He’s screaming but he no longer has a voice.

 

Let it end. Just let it end.

 

 _Fenris_.

 

His limbs, so heavy. Fenris doesn’t need to look to know he’s been shackled once again, his body being dragged across filthy floors, his skin bruising. Everything hurts, inside, outside, the voices growing louder.

 

 _Fenris_. _Wake_.

 

There’s light, so bright it hurts his eyes. His skin feels like it is burned off his flesh and again, he wants to scream, if it weren’t for the soothing coolness that follows. Fenris reaches out, relieved to find that he can, that he has not been put in irons.

 

 _You have been victorious. Do not linger in the shadows of your past_. _Justice has been served_.

 

Justice.

 

~*~

Fenris bolted upright, snarling, only to find his brightly glowing hand held tightly by the creature before him. Justice looked surprisingly calm, for a spirit enraged so often, almost like for once, Anders and he were indeed truly blending. It was Anders’ kind features Fenris gazed at, pale skin scarred with cracks of blue.

 

“ _Your sleep was restless_ ,” Justice said. “ _It is unnecessary. You have freed yourself from the chains holding you back. The man who called himself your master is no more_.” And then he was gone, blue eyes turning amber. Gentle eyes, eyes that looked at him with adoration Fenris didn’t think he deserved. “Fenris,” he murmured gently and Fenris simultaneously wanted to curl up against the taller man and scream at him.

 

“Leave,” Fenris demanded.

 

“I vividly remember what happened the last time I left,” Anders replied tiredly. “A mistake I will not repeat.”

 

It was difficult to forget, the angry scars on both his arms and his chest testimonies. Anders’ hand came to rest on his left upper arm, fingertips tenderly tracing said deep scars, a frown on the mage’s face. Fenris remembered Anders' face when he’d found him, covered in his own blood and lyrium leaking from the markings he’d cut through, had wanted to cut out of his body. He couldn’t remember why he had gotten so angry that day, angry with himself, angry with the world; but he did remember the quiet sobs, the tears streaming down Anders’ face as he’d held him tightly, healing magic seeping into his skin, into his veins. Whatever else Danarius had done to him, his skin wouldn’t heal right and the mage had been devastated. Had murmured apologies into his scarred skin, apologies that came with small kisses and bitter tears. It had broken Fenris’ heart to see the mage this way.

 

“I refuse to be a burden to you again,” Fenris snapped and Anders ignored him in favor of checking sensitive, badly healed scar tissue.

 

“Are you in much pain?” Anders asked once he had assured himself that no great damage had been done.

 

“I can handle it.”

 

Anders sighed softly and ran a hand through Fenris’ tousled hair before getting up. Fenris listened to him walking around in their home; it was small, so it only took a few steps to cross the entire place.

 

It was small, but it was _theirs_. After the destruction of Kirkwall, Fenris had taken Anders as far away as possible from the Free Marches before the sparse months of winter took hold of Thedas. They had made it as far as Nevarra, following the Minanter River that provided them with fresh water and plenty of fish, the thick wood shielding them from prying eyes. After a couple nights spent in the unforgiving rain, they had found a hut not far from a village called Hunter Fell.

 

It must have belonged to a hunter once; equipped with the basics a man would need, yet long abandoned and in desperate need of repairs. After they had managed to fix the roof, it took days for the narrow space and the ground especially to dry.

 

Over the following weeks, Anders and Fenris had found more abandoned huts, all within walking distance. Each hut offered another addition to theirs, including an actual bed, pots and plates, furs and blankets. With the Minanter River still close, they needed not worry about water and fish. Fenris still hated it, but when it turned out to be the only source of food, with deer either eluding or proving to be more clever than them, he had no other choice but eat it. Granted, the fact that Anders was talented at seasoning their meager meals with plants he found in the flora surrounding them, made it a little more bearable.

 

They had not meant to stay in the area for long, but one winter became two, then three. Spring was now chasing away the last tendrils of the freezing cold nights they had bravely suffered through. The people of Hunter Fell were friendly and provided them with what nature could not, in exchange for healing and protection. Nevarrans favored mages and Fenris was at ease with the knowledge that Anders did not have to fear more hate and threats.

 

They were facing different demons now.

 

Anders lit the small fire place, the light chasing away the last of the shadows that had plagued Fenris’ sleep. The loud clang of the kettle had Fenris flinch beneath his thin blanket, its rough fabrics rubbing across his scratched-up arm, making him hiss.

 

“Sorry,” Anders apologized. “I’m gonna cook a strong broth for us today. I got vegetables from one of the villagers.”

 

Fenris didn’t answer.

 

“Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

 

The fire was slowly warming the inside of their hut. Fenris watched Anders shrug off his coat and take his boots off before joining Fenris on their bed. This time, the elf did not fight him when the mage took his arm and inspected the scratch wounds once again. The gentle tingle of healing magic was soothing and Fenris thought he could sleep now, peacefully. Knowing that Anders was home, would watch over him.

 

“Tell me what you need.”

 

Anders had said the same words, the last time. It had been a little over a year ago and Fenris knows it had changed him, the self-loathing, the rage that came out of nowhere, it seemed. Fenris had never liked his body, not after what Danarius had done to it, but he was no fool. He did realize the advantages of the lyrium embedded in his skin, the powers it gave him, despite all the negative effects it came with.

 

One morning, Fenris had looked at his reflection in the stream and felt appalled, disgusted with the monstrosity he saw staring back at him. That was the only clear memory he had until up to the moment where Anders had found him. He had shied away from the mage’s touches more often than he had not, not out of fear, but because he felt disgusting. It didn’t help that Anders was well-liked in Hunter Fell and attracted the one or other person’s attention, someone less scared, less of a disfigured creature than Fenris was.

 

Fenris knew he was no longer the man Anders fell in love with. And yet…

 

“I don’t understand you,” he murmured and his throat suddenly felt tight. He swallowed against the lump, but to no avail.

 

“I thought you long gave up on trying to understand me,” Anders teased gently. “If I recall correctly, you said that’s the only way you and I will ever work out…”

 

“You deserve more.”

 

Anders’ face fell at those words and Fenris wished he hadn’t said them. He didn’t want to lose this man – he _couldn’t_ lose this man.

 

The mage climbed further onto their bed, his hand gently but firmly grabbing Fenris’ shoulder and making him roll to his back. Their gazes locked for a short moment, then Fenris lowered his.

 

“A couple years ago, I thought the same about you,” Anders said softly. “Remember those nights where you held me, keeping the nightmares away? Fighting off the demons of my past, drying my tears?”

 

Fenris did, he remembered every single one because each night he’d held the mage, soothing away the last tendrils of his nightmares if needed, sometimes making sure they would not haunt the mage at all, he had learned more about Anders.

 

“I thought you deserve more, someone not as broken as me,” Anders continued. “I still do think so, especially after everything I’ve put you through, almost three years ago. I never understood why you left Kirkwall with me. What I wanted for you was a place to call home, peace and freedom, not a life as a refugee.”

 

A hand, warm and gentle, slipped beneath his worn linen shirt and Fenris inhaled sharply. The sensation of Anders’ hand against his skin was incredible, making him shiver.

 

“I told you my reason,” Fenris muttered.

 

“Then why are you asking for mine?” Anders asked as he slowly lay down next to him. His hand wandered up Fenris’ side to his shoulder, before a warm palm rediscovered the plains of his chest, taut skin and tight muscles, lyrium lines marred with thick scars. Fenris’ eyes slipped closed; too long it had been since he’d last fully enjoyed the mage’s touches. He had almost forgotten how they made his skin prickle and warmth spread through his entire body.

 

“I love you,” Anders murmured. “I don’t want _better_ , because there is _nothing_ beyond my feelings for you and your love in return. Let me help you fight your demons this time, Fenris. Let me share your pain and insecurities.”

 

The lump in his throat grew and Fenris felt like he was going to suffocate any moment now. His hands reached for Anders, gripping the other man’s shirt tightly.

 

“Let me love you,” Anders added as an afterthought, his hand still caressing Fenris gently.

 

A short, pain-filled sound escaped Fenris’ lips, his chest now as tight as his throat. At first, Fenris believed it to be a hiccup but then it happened again. It was a sob. Gazing into the mage’s amber eyes, he found the other man’s words confirmed in them, paired with surprise over the trembling of the elf’s body, the sobs that continued to cross his lips. Fenris blinked once and found his vision blurred by hot tears that gathered in his eyes, resting heavily on his lashes.

 

Fenris couldn’t remember when he’d last cried. He suspected he did, as a child, because children cried. He can’t remember if he had cried while Danarius performed the ritual on him; he knew he had not once since he’d woken up aftwards.

 

Like _this_.

 

It felt so easy now, to pull Anders close, cling to him like his life depended on the contact of their bodies and Fenris thought it just might. He found himself enveloped by long, strong arms holding him tight as their legs entwined. The tears Anders couldn’t catch with his lips soaked the mage’s shirt instead.

 

Fenris couldn’t remember when he’d last cried, but he would forever remember how liberating it felt.


End file.
